It Is Through Beauty That

Historians Are Prophets With Their Face Turned Backward.

I Have Enjoyed The Happiness Of The World; I Have Loved.

O'er Ocean, With A Thousand Masts, Sails Forth The Stripling Bold- One Boat, Hard Rescued From The Deep, Draws Into Port The Old!

O That It Might Remain Eternally Green, The Beautiful Time Of Youthful Love.

I Speak With The Eternal Through The Instrument Of Nature, Through The World's History: I Read The Soul Of The Artist In His Apollo.